Child of Slytherin
by Morrowyn
Summary: When an unexpected letter reaches a young girl in Siberia, she is pleasantly surprised when it changes her life in a rather dramatic way.
1. Chapter 1

A small girl sat nestled against a cottage window, a thick blanket wrapped about her shoulders as she looked outside at the blistering storm that shook the walls of her home. Her breath fogged despite the fire roaring in the fireplace, her green eyes as frost covered as the glass she leaned against. A shiver wracked her body, and she drew closer in on herself, blowing on her hands to warm them. A sudden force shuddered the great wooden door, and the child rushed to her feet. She struggled a moment with the heavy bolt lying across the doorframe, but once she'd lifted it from its hold the howling wind outside shoved it open and her aside. Excited, the girl scrambled to her feet again and looked out into the white storm, her black hair whipping all about her, but, unlike she'd hoped, no blond giant stood in the doorway. In fact, it was quite empty. Freckled face crumpling in disappointment, she used all of her strength to close the door against the wind, once again struggling to lift the bolt as she set it back in place. It was only once she'd begun to let the tears fall one after the other down her cheeks that she heard the telltale click of talons against wood.

Wiping her eyes, she turned to find a large eagle owl preening on the small table in the corner of the room. A tentative hope rose in her chest as she approached it, scanning the table for any letters that might have been delivered. Her father had never used an owl before-he was much more fond of hawks and other raptors-, but there was a first time for everything. Pulling herself up onto the one chair, she reached across the table for the letter, not opening it until after she'd set out a bit of jerky for the owl. Hastily, she read,

_"Dear Miss Reznikova,_

_It is our pleasure to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on the first of September. We await your owl by no later than the thirty first of July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress."_

The girl sighed; it was not the letter she'd been hoping for, but it was certainly interesting news. She'd always assumed she'd go to Durmstrang like her brother-it _was_ the nearest magic school-, but here sat a letter from Hogwarts, a rival institute. She looked up to a small, palm sized portrait on the mantle, the woman it depicted smiling widely. Perhaps, she mused, it was because her mother had graduated from Hogwarts. She'd been told many times that she'd been a witch of some renown, so maybe the idea wasn't _that_ farfetched. She set down the invitation, scratching the owl absently as she looked over the supply list. After skimming the contents, she read a small footnote at the bottom of the page.

_"All supplies can be found in Diagon Alley, London."_

Groaning in despair, the girl slumped in her seat; there was no way she could get to London in time for the school year, especially not in a storm such as this. Suddenly, an idea came to her and she sat a bit taller in her chair. Looking to the now almost dead fire, she nodded to herself decisively.

Leaving her chair, she boldly entered the back room that she and her father shared. Against one wall was a low cupboard which her father had never let her open. Surely there was something there that could help solve her problem. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the first drawer.

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**This is my first Harry Potter Fic, and I'm honestly kind of nervous over its reception. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

_"Dear Father,_

_I'm going to Hogwarts._

_Anja."_

Satisfied with her note, she reached up and set it where her mother's portrait had been before she'd taken it down and placed it in her small suitcase atop her few possessions. Looking at the newly revived fire, she swallowed nervously, the hand around the pouch of Floo powder tightening its grip. She'd only seen her father use it once, but she was pretty sure she knew how to use it.

Tossing perhaps a bit too much powder into the fire, Anja jumped back as the flames turned green. Taking yet another steadying breath, she hoped her father wouldn't kill anyone once he realized she was gone. She stepped into the flames, her hand clutching the handle of her travel case so hard it shool. Pausing to take out her small chalk board and hang it around her neck, she wrote the words "_Diagon_ _Alley_" on the green surface in neat script, imagining what it might look like with all her will. She imagined wizards and witches going about their business, buying things for their own children who may also be attending Hogwarts; imagined shops lining a cobbled street and alleyways where people stood talking with one another and street vendors harping their wares. She tensed, feeling a wrenching sensation she immediately assumed was the magic at work. Clenching her eyes shut, she waited for the feeling to fade before opening them again.

Anja found herself inside the fireplace of a dark walled building, the walls lined with shelves stocked with dusty glass jars with dark, sometimes moving, contents. A pile of bones sat in a pile by the door, and various masks looked down at her, their haunting faces twisted into expressions of horror. Rusted metal hooks hung from the ceiling, barely allowing room for a tall man to stand.

All in all, exactly what she'd assumed a wizarding shop would look like.

"Ahem," she turned to see a dirty, disheveled man standing behind a counter. "Is there something you want?"

Swallowing nervously, she approached the counter, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her. Writing a quick message on her chalkboard, she showed it to the man.

"Is this Diagon Alley?"

The shopkeeper's bushy eyebrows rose as his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Diagon Alley, eh? So you're one of _those_. This ain't Diagon, half-pint; it's Knockturn."

Anja took a moment to process this, part of her utterly devastated by her failure with the Floo powder, and the other quite determined to go the rest of the way to Hogwarts on her own. Wiping her board clean, she wrote something else and again presented it to the shopkeep, this time pulling out her Hogwarts' Supply list and handing it to him.

"Can I find these things here then?"

The older man pursed his lips as he read through her list, every now and then taking a moment to regard her strangely. Sighing, he put down the parchment.

"So you're going to Hogwarts, eh? Would've figured you a shoe in for Durmstrang." Anja smiled sheepishly, suddenly very conscious of her overly large fur coat and white ushanka hat. The man sighed, once again looking her over with that odd look in his eye. "You don't look to be too much younger than Malfoy's brat. You'd do best to find him. Tall bugger," he elaborated when she cocked her head in confusion. "White hair down to his arse. You can't miss 'im."

Anja nodded, writing her thanks. He waved her off, even holding the door open for her as she dragged her little suitcase behind her. Bowing in thanks, she turned to face the district known as Knockturn Alley. All around her, witches and wizard hurried past each other, any conversations hushed and private. Everyone wore black or a shade of green, and Anja found she felt very out of place in her little white hat. She did not despair for long, though; if she looked out of place, a man with white hair would _definitely_ stand out. Gathering her courage, she stepped out into the flow of traffic, walking briskly and with purpose, her eyes looking through the windows of every shop.

Just when she'd begun thinking that perhaps she should turn around and try looking in the other direction, a conspicuous flash of white caught her eye. Hurrying after it, she found that it was a boy around her age standing beside a tall man. The two were obviously father and son; their pale hair and skin matched almost exactly. The two seemed to be in a deep conversation, so Anja stepped out of the flow of traffic and began writing her message, approaching once the father seemed to dismiss something his son had said.

Nervously, she tugged on the edge of his sleeve. She had his attention instantly, his sharp gaze looking down at her angrily.

"What?"

She presented her board.

"Excuse me, but are you Sir Malfoy?"

He looked her over, his expression unchanged. "Yes, now what do you want?"

Face burning, Anja wrote on her board and presented it again.

"A man in a shop said you might be able to help me, sir."

A sneer contorted his harsh features, obviously upset about something. "And what, pray tell, is _your_ name?"

"Anja Aleksievna Reznikova, sir."

The sneer was gone from his face almost immediately, leaving disdainful surprise in its place. "Reznikova? As in a daughter of the Reznikov family?" At Anja's nod, a small smile graced his features. "Well, then perhaps I _will_ be of assistance. My name is Lucius Malfoy, and this," he gestured to his son. "is Draco. What do you need, child?"

The man's sudden change in demeanor was was baffling, but, despite her misgivings, Anja handed him her supply list.

His smile grew as he looked it over. "Ah, yes, you are beginning at Hogwarts, then. I assume you have the funds to pay for your books and equipment?"

Anja nodded; she'd taken more than just Floo Powder from her father's stores.

Malfoy nodded crisply, "Good, then you can come with us. It is Draco's first year as well," he added, handing her list back to her as he slipped back into traffic. "So just follow our lead."

Nodding gratefully, she grabbed hold of her bag and did just that.

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**Whooo! Second Chapter! So, tell me honestly, am I being predictable? I hope not, but I haven't exactly read every Harry Potter fic out there, so... Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Anja stood nervously in the corner of the owl shop, the name of which escaped her. Birds of every size made their individual cries as Malfoy lead his son through the store, all the while extolling the qualities of certain breeds. The man had proven to be kinder than their initial meeting had her expecting, even expressly ordering that all her purchases be delivered to Hogwarts with his son's. None of the shop owners had complained, so Anja assumed he held a high position somewhere. Now, with his obvious knowledge of owls, she was wondering if perhaps he bred them.

She wasn't even sure she _wanted_ an owl, but she didn't want to be rude and ask to go to another shop after he'd been so generous as to escort her all the way to the _real_ Diagon Alley. It was quite the happy place, not at all like Knockturn; it was no wonder she'd missed it with the Floo Powder.

A low hoot brought her from her reverie, and she looked over her shoulder to see a large owl almost as tall as she was shifting its grip on its post, one eye looking down at her dismissively. Gulping, she held its yellow gaze, now completely sure of why her father didn't use owls. The animal looked at her like she was something to eat-which it probably assumed she was, if its now open mouth was anything to go by.

"Oh, deary me," The kind old shopkeeper said, coming between Anja and the owl. "Don't mind old Mathias, little one; he's always a bit cranky when visitors come into the shop." She turned a scornful eye on the bird, who looked back unashamed. "Old fool."

The owl hooted again, low and quiet, and Anja found she felt sorry for the old animal. His feathers torn and ragged, he wasn't the prettiest bird in the shop, and the dark scar where his left eye would have been probably frightened off quite a few buyers. She'd seen birds with handicaps like his function perfectly fine in the wild, though, admittedly, none of his age, so there was no reason he couldn't at least act as a mail carrier.

Besides, she wasn't exactly flawless, herself.

Writing on her board, she held it up to the shopkeeper who squinted to read her words in the dim light of the shop.

"How much does he cost?"

The woman's eyes widened behind her spectacles. "Oh, dear, you can't mean that. I know he seems a sorry sort, but Mathias is a large bird - almost a tall as you are! You can't possibly be serious."  
Anja's jaw set determinedly, and she wrote in large, pointed script.

"How much?"

An uneasy look crossed the woman's face. "I'm afraid he isn't for sale."

Anja's eyes widened in shock. How could such an old bird not be for sale? Typically old stock are sold for less; unless the animal held some sort of sentimental value to the owner, of course. She looked up at the now preening owl before nodding in disappointment.

"What's this?" The elder Malfoy approached them, his son in tow. "Are you refusing a paying customer?"

The shop lady cringed visibly, lowering her gaze. "N-no, sir, not at all. It's old Mathias, y'see, sir. He's not exactly mail bird material."

A flapping of wings startled her, her spectacles fair falling from her nose. Draco laughed, the smirk twisting his face almost identical to the one on his father's. Anja would have joined in, but she found herself frozen stiff as a set of potentially dangerous talons closed over her shoulders.

"Well," Mr. Malfoy said, his smirk still in place. "I think it's obvious where _Mathias_ wants to be."

"But, sir," the shopkeeper interjected, her face lined with worry. "I cannot just simply sell a war owl to child! T'wouldn't be right."

A haughty look crossed Malfoy's face as he looked down at the disheveled woman. "Then I suppose it's a good thing that mis Reznikova is who she is, isn't it?"

She continued to look up at him, confused, before understanding crossed her face. Whirling, she looked down at Anja, on hand over her mouth as several greying wisps of hair framing her face.

"Yes, yes it is."

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**Ok, this would have been up ****_hours ago_****, but for some doggone reason I just couldn't access FanFiction! No matter what server I connected to, no matter what proxy I used, nothin'. Nada, zilch, kaput. Thankfully, it finally loaded a few minutes ago. No telling how small this window of opportunity is, so I'll get this up ASAP!**

**Next up! : Wand Time!**


	4. Chapter 4

Anja next found herself cowering behind Mr. Malfoy in a wand shop belonging to someone name _Ollivander_. They'd left Draco with his mother, a tall woman with beautiful blonde hair, as she took him to buy some new dress robes. Her husband had then insisted he take her to get a wand, and she vaguely wondered why he was being so nice. It obviously wasn't in his nature, as he sneered far more often than he smiled. She'd noticed that he liked throwing her name around, as if being associated with her was a right only he had. That, in and of itself, was very odd; her family didn't hold any special positions - that she knew of, anyway -, and she doubted her father's work in the Ministry had him running the same circles as someone like Malfoy.

Her musings were interrupted by a gangly old man with wild greying hair and an apron approaching from deeper within the shop. He set his pale blue eyes on her immediately, completely ignoring Mr. Malfoy as he smiled widely.

"Ah, yes, Hyacintha Glasgow's daughter. I've been wondering when you'd walk through my door." Anja's green eyes widened in surprise, and she made to write on her board. The old man raised his hand, stopping her. "Of course, I know who you are; you're the spitting image of your mother at your age." His gentle smile grew wider. "Seems her side of the family carries some strong blood, aye?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, his thin mouth turned down in an obviously practiced frown. "We are here for a wand, old man, not idle chit chat."

The wandmaker smiled good naturedly, bowing his head a tad too low. "Of course, of course." He shuffled back toward one of the many shelves in his shop, pulling a small, oblong box out from beside its fellows.

"Here we are," he said as she returned. He opened the box, revealing a wand made of light brown wood with small, simplistic carvings and nick all along its length. "Oak with a bear claw core, unyielding at ten inches precisely. Great for offensive magic. Your father has one of similar make, I believe." He added when he noticed her hesitance.

Looking to Mr. Malfoy for approval, she took the wand from the box, holding it in her hand warily. The wood gave off a warm sensation, her fingers tingling where they touched it. It wasn't a bad feeling, but she found she didn't like it, just the same. Shaking her head, she placed it back in its box.

Mr. Ollivander frowned, mumbling to himself as he scurried off to find another wand he thought might suit her. She glanced up at her pale chaperone, pleased to see that his expression had lost some of its previous venom. He met her gaze, his grey eyes unsmiling, and she looked away quickly.

"This one ought to do," Ollivander said, returning. He presented Anja with another wand, this one darker than the first. "Holly with unicorn hair, eight and a half inches and very springy. Wonderful with charms." She took it from him skeptically. "Go on," he encouraged when she didn't set it down. "Give it a swish."

Shrugging ambiguously, she did as she was told. Unsurprisingly, nothing of note happened when she did, reflecting the wand's lack of reaction in her hold.

Ollivander scratched at his jaw, mumbling quite audibly to himself. "Odd, could've sworn she'd match her one of her parents. Perhaps her brother..." He wandered back into the slew of shelves, his fingers running along the ends of one box after another.

Anja sighed, already bored. Mr. Malfoy seemed to echo her sentiments, his cane striking the floor in annoyance.

"Are we to stand about all afternoon, or shall we take our business elsewhere?"  
Not how she would have put it, but still...

Mr. Ollivander quickly, if distractedly, pulled a box of the shelf, dust flying in his haste. He almost dropped it as he pulled off the top, a small reddish wand with no embellishments save a shallow niche separating the worn hilt from the actual instrument, the tip of which gave the appearance of having once been longer, bu was at one point broken and never repaired.

"Hazel with a basilisk skin core," the old man said, his voice not quite steady. "Six and three quarter inches, reasonably inflexible. Good for transfigurations or divination."

The old man cleared his throat as Anja picked up the little wand, his gaze shifting toward Malfoy every other moment. At first, she wasn't sure what to think of the small stick in her hand; it didn't warm her like the first had, but neither was it dead in her grasp like the second. Instead, it cooled her palm nicely, an electric tingle running up her arm to her elbow. Curious, she gave it an experimental flick, the movement tossing the two previous wands back to their places on the shelves, the resulting wind tugging at a few strands of her dark hair. Surprised, she looked up at the old wandmaker, his mouth set into a grim line as he watched her wand.

"Hmm, yes," he said lowly. "It _would_ be that one." His expression abruptly changed and he smiled at her again, the expression not quite meeting his eyes.. "That'll be seven Galleons, dear. Take good care of that wand; Basilisk skins are rare and few between."

Anja looked up at Mr. Malfoy for one last time before paying for the wand. His serious expression unnerved her, however, and she turned away quickly, fishing the money out of one of her deep coat pockets.

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**I did ****_a lot _****of research for this chapter. Hopefully it isn't falling into any cliches. I could have skipped the whole wand buying scene and just referenced it later, but I felt it revealed too much about her family to just ****_leave out_****, so to speak. If you think the whole scene by scene thing is a bit too tedious, ****_don't worry_****, it's pretty much over now.**

**I got my Wand information at pottermoreschosenfew . weebly / wandlore . html  
**


	5. Chapter 5

Anja sat alone in the box Draco had claimed for them after they'd boarded the Hogwarts Express. She'd been very impressed with it, having never seen a train before, and Mr. Malfoy had laughed at her awed expression. He and his wife had both come to see them off at the train station, their haughty expressions very much out of place in the midst of various, and often teary, farewells. Draco's mother did give her son a hug, even if he did try to avoid it, wishing him well and telling him to do his best. Remembering made Anja's heart ache - had her father been there he would have given the finest of send offs, one so grande her brother would have died of envy. Instead, Lucius Malfoy had nodded to her encouragingly as she'd followed Draco onto the train, otherwise giving no outward sign that he knew her.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the cool window, watching the landscape change.

* * *

She was woken rather rudely by a hand shaking her shoulder. Rubbing her eyes, Anja looked up at a smirking Draco, two rather tall boys standing behind him.

"Fell asleep, did you?" Anja's only answer was a yawn which made the pale boy's smile widen. "Well, wake up. We've arrived. These are Crabbe and Goyle, by the way." She nodded to the boys, a gesture they did not return. Standing, she fluffed out her robes in the hopes of straightening out any wrinkles that might have set during her nap. Draco lead the way out of the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle behind him with Anja at the end. Several other students were also filing into the small corridor, many of them older and bearing colors alongside their plain black robes. Anja swallowed nervously, stepping in closer to her own little group.

Stepping off the train, she was startled to find that it was already dark out. Surely she hadn't slept the _entire_ time.

"'Right then! This way to the boats, follow me!" An incredibly tall man announced, light from his lantern reflecting off his dark beard. Turning, he lead the way through a quaint little village to a row of boats kept moored along the bank of a large pool of water. Anja hesitated before stepping into the boat Draco had chosen, an older student with green accents to his uniform at the prow. She looked down into the eerily dark water, her pale reflection looking back at her through the rippling. Back home, liquid water meant there was something dangerous inside, as the frigid temperatures would have frozen its surface, otherwise. Tearing her gaze away from the lake, she followed the awed gazes of Crabbe and Goyle to the large, brilliantly lit castle that grew steadily closer as the boats approached it.

Once the boats made land, Anja wasted no time stepping out. The entire gaggle of students then headed up a staircase seemingly without being prompted, and she hurried to catch up with Draco, tentatively taking hold of the back of the taller boy's robe. He looked back at her once before continuing upward. She took a moment to look around, taking in the various features of all the people who would be in her year. A girl with bushy brown hair noticed her wandering gaze and smiled slightly, giving her a small wave. Embarrassed, Anja immediately looked away and tried her best to disappear behind Draco, who sped up to reach the top of the stairwell.

Standing in front of a set of tall doors was an older woman who might have been passably pretty in her younger years wearing floor length robes and a feathered hat.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said in a strong voice. "Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates," she gestured behind her. "But before you can take your seats you must be _sorted_ into your houses." A ripple of whispers passed through the gathered youth. The elderly witch raised her voice above the din. "They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Draco looked to Crabbe and Goyle with a smile as the last was mentioned.

The witch's tone grew serious as she continued. "Now, while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points; any rule breaking," she eyed them all narrowly. "And you will _lose_ points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup-."

"Trevor!" A boy ran forward out of the crowd, interrupting the witch's speech to retrieve a large, disgusting looking thing from the floor at her feet. Now that the older woman was no longer speaking, Anja realized that she'd been hanging on her every word, the idea of having a family away from home exciting and a little confusing.

"The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily." With that, the witch walked away.

Once she was out of earshot, Draco spoke up, and Anja once again hid behind him to avaid being seen.

"It's true, then," he said. "What they were saying on the train : Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

Everyone who'd heard burst into awed exclamations, one bespectacled boy in the front of the group turning slightly red.

Draco leaned nonchalantly against the railing, gesturing with his head as he spoke. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle, and this is Anja." He moved, revealing the girl behind him to public scrutiny as he approached the mysterious Potter - no doubt using her first name because he could not pronounce her last. "And I'm Malfoy." He positioned himself so that he stood a head taller than the dark haired boy. "Draco Malfoy."

The red haired boy beside Potter laughed with little restraint, and Draco wasted no time in cutting him down, making snide comments on his family's apparent lack of funds. He then turned back to Harry, his haughty expression a miniature of his father's.

"You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter," he said, and Anja found she quite agreed - magical aptitude did tend to be a hereditary trait. "You _don't_ want to go making friends with the _wrong_ sort." Draco smiled expectantly, extending a hand to the dark haired student. "_I_ can help you there."

The Potter boy took a moment to look at Draco's hand before replying snippily. "I think I can tell the 'wrong sort' for myself, thanks."

The look on Draco's face would have been funny if the woman from before hadn't walked up behind him and tapped him with a scroll. The blond boy returned to his group, Anja once again opting to hide in his shadow rather than face his angry scowl. The older witch looked down at all of them before giving a small smile.

"We are ready for you now. Follow me."

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**Once again, I considered skipping this whole exchange, but I found the information to valuable to skip over.**


	6. Chapter 6

Anja fell into step behind Draco and beside Crabbe as the pack of first years filed into a two-by-two line behind the older witch, the tables on either side of them filled with older children and young adults. She resisted the urge to reach out for Draco's robe again, instead closing in on herself in the hopes of becoming invisible. She'd never seen so many people in one place before, and the prospect of being around them all for the next year frightened her to no end. Would she be able to keep up with the curriculum? What if there were oral tests? She gasped in realization as the group came to a stop at the foot of a wide dais, upon which was the table where all the adults sat. Anja clutched her hands to her chest, trembling with the weight of her burden.

If she couldn't speak, how would she cast spells . She'd fail every assignment and be kicked out of school for being a disgrace. The stern woman who'd brought them into the hall started speaking, but Anja paid no heed. Maybe she could just turn around and leave before anyone noticed she was there. The reverberation of the closing doors behind her obliterated that idea. Then, perhaps she could pull the stern woman aside, tell her it was all a mistake.

_No_, she straightened, her jaw setting determinedly. _No, I can't give up. My mother came here and graduated just fine; and she was just like me! She told me so, didn't she?_ She drew a deep, steadying breath as she listened to the headmaster's preliminary warnings. She would do just fine.

The stern witch stepped forward, unrolling a scroll as she spoke. "Now, when I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses." She held the yellowed parchment away from her body and a great conical hat in her other hand.

"Hermione Granger!"

A girl at the front of the girl gasped, mumbling to herself as she climbed the steps to the low stool. Once she'd sat, Anja recognized her as the bushy haired girl who'd waved at her on the staircase. At least she wasn't the only one with a case of nerves. She was very surprised when the hat began to speak once it was placed on Hermione's head, its deep voice filling the hall.

"Right then, right...," it mused. "Hmm, Gryffindor!"

One of the tables erupted with cheers, and the girl slid off the stool to join her new house.

Anja swallowed, wondering nervously whether or not the list was in alphabetical order.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Anja watched in horror as her security blanket left her, and she breathed deeply to steady herself, focusing on anything but how vulnerable she felt.

The hat had scarce been placed on the boy's blond head before shouting, "Slytherin!" Draco smiled slightly and walked with as much dignity as a little boy could muster to the table of his cheering house. Anja hoped she'd be with him; she had no idea which house had been her mother's, but if she didn't get into that one, she'd feel safer with a familiar face.

"Susan Bones!"

A girl behind her stepped up to the stool, confirming Anja's suspicions that their names appeared on the list in a random order. She'd have no warning, then.

Her hands clenched her robes tightly, as she watched the girl run off to the Hufflepuff table. Surely she would be next.

"Ronald Weasley!"

She sighed in relief as the boy who'd laughed at Draco's name slowly approached the dais. Set upon his head, the hat wasted no time sending him to Gryffindor, where there were apparently more Weasleys waiting.

"Anja Reznikova!"

She could have sworn her heart stopped as her name rang out across the hall, but somehow she made her way past Crabbe and Goyle and up the steps to the stool. Clambering onto it with some difficulty, she held herself perfectly still as the hat was lowered onto her head.

"Hah!" it shouted, startling her. "New blood, it seems...No," it trailed off in disappointment as she clenched her eyes shut against imaginary probing. "No, you're a Glasgow. Hmph, and a pureblood to boot!" She couldn't help but wonder why that would be a problem. "Hm? Not a problem, eh?" Anja's eyes bolted open, her thoughts flying about frantically. "Heh, just like your mother. Slytherin!"

The table on the far right from her erupted in cheers, and she gave a small smile of relief. Sliding off the stool, she turned and bowed to the old hat before dashing off to her new house table. Draco moved over, giving her a space to sit, and she nodded in thanks. Sighing heavily, she lay her head against the table, the cool wood doing wonders for her burning face.

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**Just lettin' y'all know that no matter how often I update throughout the week, there will _always _be one on Friday. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

A large bang sounded by her head, and Anja sat up quickly, her green eyes wide as Blaise Zabini laughed at her expense.

"That's three years in a row you've slept through the first year sorting." He said incredulously, his white smile contrasting handsomely with his dark complexion, the expression oh so familiar after years of friendship.

Anja waved him off, her magic quill flying into the air and writing on nothing in a bold, elegant script.

"Better now than in Snape's class."

The quill had been a gift from Mrs. Malfoy at the beginning of her second year, the graceful black feather reminiscent of the woman who'd bought it. She'd been surprised when the older witch had explained what she called "the _bonding_ procedure, a nasty bit involving blood and saliva, but was ultimately impressed with the speed at which she could transcribe her thoughts onto the air itself. After that, it had been a matter of _choosing_ her thoughts, instead of letting them run wild.

Tracey Davis snorted, taking a moment to finish her mouthful before speaking. "She has a point, Zabini. Wouldn't want to go through _that_ again." Her gaze grew wistful, no doubt remembering the time Anja had fallen asleep in Potions and left her assignment stirring too long. The mess had been disastrous.

Blaise rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama. "Please, he'll only take points off Gryffindor, anyway."

The group laughed quietly as the headmaster stood behind a small owl shaped podium and spoke as if reading off a paper. "Well," he began. "Now that we're all settled in and sorted, I'd like to make an announcement." The doors at the foot of the hall opened and Mr. Filch came running in, a hand to his heart as he wheezed comically. "This castle," Dumbledore continued, unperturbed. "Will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests, as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen-." The old wizard trailed off as Mr. Filch reached the raised teacher's dais. First years giggled amongst themselves as the two men whispered, and Anja rolled her eyes.

Tracey met her gaze, smiling. "You know what's going on, don't you? Don't try and play it off; you were the only one not gawking at that monstrous ship we saw earlier."

Anja smiled slightly, giving her friend a wink in reply.

Mr. Filch ran back to the doorway, and Dumbledore continued.

"So, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event : The Triwizard Tournament."

Tracey raised an eyebrow at Anja as their headmaster explained the tournament for the first years' benefit.

"You knew."

Anja's smile grew.

"But more of that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the young ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress, Madame Maxime."

Everyone turned in their seats to watch the doors open to admit a stunning array of young women, all walking in unison.

Beside Anja, Draco snorted in amusement. She looked to him in surprise; it was the most noise he'd made since leaving the train. She tapped his arm, her quill writing on the table before him.

"Is there something the matter?"

He smirked, his eyes following the silk clad girls. "Nothing."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, leaving her hand on his arm just the same.

Up on the dais, Dumbledore made a wide gesture for everyone to settle down.

"And now, our friends from the north. Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their highmaster, Igor Karkaroff."

Once again, everyone turned in their seats, and this time Anja joined them. Young man after young man came in, banging their magic sticks against the cobbled floor in a masculine display, capturing the hearts of Hogwarts' female students as Beauxbatons and the male. Anja trained her eyes on the doorway; there was only one man _she_ wanted to see. After a particularly fancy twirl of their staffs, the Durmstrang boys all started running for the center of the hall, some stopping to perform wild acrobatics along the way. Then it came, the earsplitting roar of the great bear of Russia. It stormed into the hall, eliciting screams from first and sixth years alike, its fur shining white as it charged down the narrow pathway between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Anja stood for a better look at the animagus as he lunged at one of the students, going swiftly from bear to man in a matter of seconds as the shorter boy dodged with practiced ease. He found her immediately, pushing sweaty blonde hair from his face as he winked in greeting.

His performance was overshadowed by the entrance of Viktor Krum, everyone's fear replaced by reverence as the world famous Quidditch player walked into the halls. Anja sat back down, satisfied.

Blaise was smiling widely. "Damn, Dmytri's gotten good." Anja snorted; Blaise had often expressed an interest in becoming an animagus back in their first year of Transfiguration, marvelling in its power even now, years after his mother had smothered the idea.

Tracey nodded in agreement, her golden locks falling over her shoulders. "Yeah, he's a lot better than the last time we saw him. By the way," she shot Zabini a menacing glare. "How come _you_ get to call him Dmytri?"

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What? You mean he hasn't said you could yet? And here I thought you were _so_ close."

Tracey humphed and stuck her pert nose in the air.

"Who's Dmytri?" The three friends turned to look at their fearless leader, his pale eyebrows drawn into a darkly curious frown, and then at each other. Anja's quill poised itself to write, but Tracey plucked it from the air, much to her friend's distress.

"He's the bear. If you'd come with us to visit Anja in the hospital last summer, you'd have met him, just as we did."

Blaise nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes. "That's right. It's not everyday your _best friend_ has their home torn apart by Siberian were-wolves. Seriously, how does that even _happen_?"

Anja pounded feebly on the table, not wanting to attract too much attention. Tracey rolled her eyes, understanding the other girl's meaning perfectly.

"It was so a big deal. You were in St. Mungo's for a month. The _least_ he could have done was write."

"I _did_ write," Draco said, exasperated. "I couldn't come because-."

"Of business with your father," Blaise intoned in Draco's pompous drawl. "So you've said."

"Besides," Tracey continued, holding the magic quill just out of Anja's reach. "You'd have met him if you'd visited _this_ summer, too; Moscow is lovely that time of year, did you know? Oh, right, you wouldn't, would you?"

Finally giving up on her quill, Anja sat down heavily, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration.

Blaise laughed at her. "Oh, c'mon now, don't be that way. It's not Tracey's fault you're so blasted short."

Anja shot him a glare before smiling up at a scowling Draco, patting him arm consolingly.

"It's fine," she mouthed. "I understand."

The furrow in his brow lessened, but did not leave entirely, much to the amusement of Blaise and Tracey.

* * *

**Two in one day? I must really love you guys. ;D Happy Valentine's Day!**


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm entering."

Anja almost choked on her drink, coughing behind her hand as she looked at Draco incredulously. Blaise gave a loud whoop and a clap, while Tracey rubbed Anja's back.

"Are you insane?" she wrote. "The Tournament's deadly as hell!"

Draco sneered down at her. "Are you saying I can't do it?"

"No, I'm saying you could _die_."

He rolled his eyes, "And what would _you_ know about it?"

She glared up at him, her quill moving furiously.

"More than you, obviously."

Blaise scratched at his jaw contemplatively. "Hey, don't you have a trophy in your cabinet from this Tournament?"

Tracey's eyes widened. "Hey, you're right! I saw a couple of those lying around." She turned to her friend excitedly. "You said they were family heirlooms."

"They are," Anja hedged, not meeting any of their gazes. "My family's competed before."

"And won? Wow, and you have so many," Tracey looked off dreamily into the distance. "I wonder if Dmytri will be chosen."

"I should hope not!" Anja wrote angrily. "Twice as many of my ancestors died as lived, and I refuse to attend the funeral for someone who fell over something so trivial."

"What's the matter, _Russian_?" Pansy Parkinson called from further down the table, using the nickname adopted by those unable to pronounce her last name. "Scared?"

"Yes, actually." She replied pointedly, surprising the pug faced bully. "_I_, for one, will most certainly not be competing."

Pansy smirked at her, her friends tittering inanely. "Well, I have complete confidence that Draco will win."

The blonde preened at her words, and Anja resisted the urge to massage her temple. If there was one thing she could not stand about her closest friend, it was his persistent hubris.

"It isn't a matter of confidence," she wrote with obvious venom, the false ring of the other girl's words a personal insult. "It's a matter of actually _caring_ about what happens to him. I know Draco has the potential to win, but this tournament his just as great a chance of killing him, and I'd rather him be alive and forgotten than dead and a legend."

Tracey raised her glass in a mock toast. "Here, here! What a bold declaration of love!"

Anja rolled her eyes, blushing at her own audacity. She had never been one for putting her feelings to words - ironic, as they were her only means of communication - , she had never felt the need. Her true friends were the ones who knew them instantly, and who made conscious effort to say her name properly before she gave up on them and let them call her Anja.

Beside her, Draco snorted in derision. "Shut up, Davis, you're making her blush." He grunted in pain as Anja's elbow met his ribs, and he cast a glare down at her before breaking into barely smothered laughter. "I can't believe you said all that."

She stuck her tongue out at him before taking a sip of her drink.

* * *

**I'm so sorry for not updating yesterday, but I had a performance that drug on late into the night. This chapter is rather short, but I hope it will suffice. I have a beta now! xxjust-forgot-you-againxx, thank you for all your advice!**


	9. Chapter 9

Anja sat beside Tracey in the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, listening as their new teacher introduced himself, writing his surname on the board with chalk. Tracey tapped her arm, and she turned. The other girl passed a folded piece of paper to her under the desk. Raising a brow at her, Anja unfolded it and read.

_Can you believe the Ministry's new rule? What's the point of a competition if not everyone can compete?_

Anja snorted quietly before scribbling down her reply in a hasty scrawl.

_It's just precaution. You heard Dumbledore, these contests are usually quite dangerous._

She set it down in Tracey's lap, her eyes trained on Professor Moody as he addressed the class.

"When it comes to the dark arts," he was saying. "I believe in a practical approach. But first, which of you can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?"

"Three, sir," said Granger, the Gryffindor know-it-all, her voice wavering.

The professor turned back to the board, writing. "And they are so named..?"

Tracey handed the note back to Anja, and she forced herself to turn away from the lesson.

_Don't you think we ought to choose for ourselves? We don't take this class for nothing, you know._

Anja glanced up at Professor Moody, who was giving a small tirade on the use of forbidden curses in the classroom.

_I'm sure they gave it a lot of thought. It's a miracle the Tournament's even back in action._

She handed it over quickly, fully intending to pay close attention from here on out.

Everyone's attention was on Seamus Finnegan, who had been called out for placing his chewing gum under his desk.

Anja watched with amusement as Alastor Moody launched his chalk at Seamus, yelling. He stepped forward menacingly. "So," he said, his voice low. "Which curse shall we see first? Weasely!" he barked, and the red haired boy jumped in his seat. Anja winced, knowing just how much her somewhat friend hated being called on in class.

"Yes?" he sniveled.

"Stand."

The poor boy complied, and Anja could hear Draco snickering behind her. She never could fathom why he hated the Gryffindors so much, but had come to accept it as part of his personality.

"Give us a curse," the former Auror demanded, and Ron looked as if he would be sick.

"Well," he began, "My dad did tell me about one." He hesitated. "The Imperius curse?"

"Oh, yes. Your father would know all about that; gave the ministry quite a bit if grief a few years ago. Perhaps this will show you why." He turned and began rummaging around his desk, the students chattering among themselves. Tracey tried to catch Anja's attention and hand her the note, but she ignored her friend. She remembered her father mentioning the curses a few times before, perhaps she'd be able to contribute to the lesson, maybe earn a few points for Slytherin. She sat up straighter, trying to see what Moody was looking for. Surely he wouldn't...

The professor pulled something from one of the many jars on his desk, cooing at it before casting an enlargement spell, revealing a now enormous insect.

"Imperio!" he cast, sending it onto a desk shared by Gryffindors, making all the Slytherins laugh.

Everyone joined in as Moody next set the bug on Crabbe's head.

"Don't worry," he called over the din. "Completely harmless." He brought it over to Ron next, laughing. "Unless she bites; she's lethal."

Anja shrunk in her seat, very aware of Ron's arachnophobia. The poor boy was probably having a heart attack. Moody's crazed laughter stopped suddenly, his eyes locked on something behind her.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" The next moment the insect was on Draco's face, his smile replaced by instant panic. The laughter in the room grew in volume, and Anja managed to avoid Tracey's note while holding Malfoy still.

"Talented isn't she?" The wild look in Moody's eye seemed to grow as he addressed the class, and Anja had to wonder what the headmaster had been thinking when he'd hired the psychopath.

"What should I have her do next? Jump out the window?" The class silenced as he flung the insect into the glass, the poor animal struggling futilely. He suspended it over a bucket, "Drown herself?" He brought her back to his open palm before speaking, all levity gone. "Scores of witches and wizards have claimed that they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the influence of the Imperius Curse," Malfoy inhaled sharply, and Anja glanced up at him in concern, still twisted in her seat. "But here's the rub, how do we sort out the liars?"

Tracey finally managed to squeeze the note into Anja's hand, and she glared at her friend before turning in her seat to read it. To her surprise, the new line was in Draco's neat print, not Tracey's.

_I think we're old enough to decide what risks to take._

She rolled her eyes, writing down her response while trying to ignore the pain filled screams of the little animal as Professor Moody subjected it to the Cruciatus Curse. Passing it back brusquely, she looked back up as Granger yelled across the room for the demonstration to stop. Moody cleared his throat, his expression dazed as he approached the Gryffindor's desk, the tortured spider in his hand. Placing it on her textbook, he addressed her softly.

"Perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger."

Surprisingly, Hermione shook her head, and the professor managed to look a bit disappointed before collecting the animal and walking over to the desk Anja and Tracey shared, dumping the whimpering creature in front of them. Beside her, Tracey squealed in disgust.

"How about you, Miss Reznikov? As an Auror's daughter I'm sure you've heard of it plenty."

Anja met his gaze, nodding slowly.

"Well, go on. Give us the name."

She looked down at the insect, knowing in her heart that killing it would be a mercy at that point, but still could not bring herself to write out the Curse. She heard Moody sigh and watched in horror as the professor readied his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The insect was dead within seconds.

* * *

Anja packed up her books after class, ready to leave the bipolar atmosphere.

"Miss Reznikov," she looked up at Professor Moody as he limped over to her desk. "If I might have a word with you."

She exchanged a glance with Tracey before nodding and following him to his desk. Once the other students had left, he spoke.

"I couldn't help but notice that you and Miss Davis had an ongoing conversation all through class." He trained his false eye on her while shifting through some papers. "Mind telling me what was so important it couldn't wait until _after_ the lesson?"

Anja sighed in exasperation.

"Nothing sir; it was trivial and had absolutely nothing to do with class."

Moody turned to regard her with his human eye, looking her up and down. "Hmm, yes, Dumbledore did mention your little _predicament_. Tell me Reznikov," Anja had to resist the urge to cringe as he used the male form of her name for a third time. "What did you think of today's lesson?"

"I found it rather disillusioning, sir."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that so? You're dismissed, Reznikov, but if I catch you passing notes in my class again, it'll be detention for a week, you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

* * *

**Just letting y'all know, I may be revising my schedule. This might not be updated on Fridays anymore, but I'll be sure to leave a note telling you exactly when it will be.**


	10. Chapter 10

At lunch, Draco sat beside her as usual, but Anja was surprised to find both Tracey and Blaise sitting across from them, leaving the seat on her left empty. At first she thought nothing of it, but when they shared a look and giggled, she knew they were up to something.

"What's so funny?"

Tracey rolled her eyes, "As if you didn't know." She leaned in across the table, a mischievous glint in her light blue eyes. "Look at where the Beauxbatons are sitting."

Confused, Anja did as she was told, finding the French girls sitting at the Ravenclaw table. She raised an eyebrow at Davis, but the other girl only giggled.

"Now, find Durmstrang."

A feeling of dread filled her as she looked out across the hall, seeing not one ushanka at the other tables. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked down her own, face going white as her eyes met another pair of a similar shade.

"You did this," she accused.

Tracey held up her hands in feigned innocence. "I had nothing to do with it, they sat here on their own. Besides," her smile grew into a smirk. "We both know how much he pines for you when you're apart."

Anja rolled her eyes, trying very hard to shrink into oblivion. Dmytri was a nice guy, always laughing and willing to joke, but sometimes he was a bit much. Especially in close quarters.

"Anja, most beautiful woman in Russia." The tall blond sat in the seat Tracey had purposely left empty, the long coat of his uniform brushing against her leg. "I have missed you, сестра."

Beside her, Draco cleared his throat, drawing the larger boy's attention away from his friend. "I don't believe we've met. I am Draco Malfoy."

A delighted smile split Dmytri's face, and he reached around Anja to shake Draco's hand.

"Ah, Malfoy," He said, his accent rich and thick. "Anja has told me much about you. I am Dmytri Aleksievich, Anja's-."

"So!" Tracey cut in, her face plastered with a wide smile. "Are you going to enter the tournament, Dmytri Aleksievich?"

The boys turned back in their seats, engaging in casual conversation, but Anja couldn't help but feel the unspoken animosity that bloomed between them when Draco's hand settled closer to hers than before.

"So, Dmytri," Blaise began after an interval of comfortable silence. "What are the Durmstrang students doing during their stay here?"

The Russian replied while chewing, though he did cover his mouth. "We are taking classes with year mates. We don't share with you, unfortunately, but can hardly expect us to give up education just for tournament."

Anja nodded in agreement, whereas Draco scoffed.

"Surely if you're chosen you won't have to sit in class."

Dmytri stroked his beard in speculation, "This is true. Karkaroff will probably let me focus on Tournament alone, but Anja," he looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Anja will sit me down and tutor in subject learned years ago."

Tracey gasped in realization. "That's right, you're in your final year, aren't you?"

"Да."

A Durmstrang student walked over and spoke in a low burr in Dmytri's ear and he stood.

"Excuse me, I am needed."

Tracey lay her head on the table after he'd gone.

"Oh, he's so perfect," she said. "You're so lucky Anja."

She rolled her eyes at her friend's antics, finally settling down to eat.


	11. Chapter 11

Anja sat with her head on her desk, answering her professor's questions with her quill.

"Now, Miss Reznikov, I am sure I told you _not_ to pass notes in my class. Did I not?"

"You did, sir."

"Did I stutter?"

"No, sir."

"Then what is this?" He slammed something onto her desk, and she sat up. It was the note Draco had passed to her in DADA, asking if she knew any spells to get around the age line Professor Dumbledore had set around the Goblet of Fire.

"Nothing, sir. I didn't even respond."

"But you would have!" Moody began to pace anxiously, his limp overly pronounced as he muttered unintelligibly and drinking from his flask. He whirled on her, his false eye looking at something else. "Detention, Miss Reznikov, and Professor McGonagall can't get you out of it!"

Anja turned, confused, and saw that the stern Transfigurations professor was indeed standing in the doorway.

"If you'll excuse me, Professor Moody, but I must insist that you accompany me to the Headmaster's office."

He scowled deeply, "You stay here, Reznikov."

"Actually," McGonagall interjected. "Miss Reznikova had best accompany us, Professor.."

* * *

Anja followed Professor Moody into Dumbledore's office, shutting the door behind her. Turning she was greeted by a crowd of people all speaking at once.

"She is guilty," said Madame Maxime. "Her brother is of age, she could have convinced him to-."

"Are you accusing one of my students of fowl play?" Karkaroff interjected, his face twisted into a scowl. "Dmytri is an honest boy-."

"Where were you? They had to send someone after you when your name showed up after mine." Harry asked, his voice relievedly soft compared to the adults'.

"I was held after class by Professor Moody. What exactly is going on here?"

"A fine question," Moody placed a hand on her shoulder and shouted over the din. "Would anyone like to answer Miss Reznikov's question?"

Everyone went quiet, and for the first time Anja noticed that Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory were also in the room, giving her strange looks. Dumbledore sighed.

"I am sorry for the hullabaloo, my dear, but I beg your patience. Please answer my questions with _complete_ honesty, if you don't mind."

Anja nodded, suddenly suspicious.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir. I wouldn't dream of it."

"Did you have an older student do it for you?"

"Not at all, sir. I don't even want to compete. Why? Has something happened?"

The Hogwarts headmaster turned to the others in the room, his normal jovial expression exchanged for one of total seriousness. "What are the rules, Mr. Crouch?"

Bartemius Crouch stepped forward, clearing his throat. "The Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. I am afraid the children will have to compete."

Anja clutched at her skirt in panic.

"Is there any way I can forfeit, Mr. Crouch?"

He looked at her with a piteous gaze. "I am afraid not, Miss Reznikov. All Champions must participate in all the events."

"Well, isn't that convenient?"

She turned to look over her shoulder at Moody, who was scowling harshly, his false eye flickering about the room.

"What are you saying, Professor?" McGonagall asked, confused.

"Isn't it obvious? Someone put their names in there, knowing that, if they were chosen, they'd have no choice but to compete; "binding magical contract", and all that."

"Are you saying that someone did this as a threat to their lives?" Karkaroff asked skeptically.

Moody nodded, "Do I need to remind you how many enemies Potter has? Or how devastating losing his daughter would be on Aleksi Reznikov, the Ministry's top Auror? Whoever put their names in had an ulterior motive."

"That is, assuming someone else actually did it." Madame Maxime sneered.

"It would have taken an incredibly powerful Confundus Charm to bamboozle such a powerful object; something these two couldn't possibly do! They were probably entered under different schools, just to ensure they were chosen."

"Jumping at shadows again, Moody?" Karkaroff scoffed. "There's a reason they call you mad."

"It's my job to think like Dark Wizards, Igor, which you'd do well to remember!"

"I believe that is quite enough." Dumbledore looked down at the two fourth years encouragingly before turning to Mr. Crouch. "Perhaps we ought to give our Champions their instructions."


	12. Chapter 12

Anja sighed as she stepped into the Slytherin common room, leaning heavily against the wall. Cedric had insisted on escorting her - a sweet gesture, but unnecessary - , and he had insisted on asking innocuous questions; "How did you get your name in the Goblet?" and "Did you and Harry work together?" and even "Why would you want to forfeit?". Ugh, there was a _reason_ no one liked Hufflepuffs.

"Anja!" She looked up to see Tracey running down the stairs to the girl's dormitory. "Anja did you hear? Your name came out of the Goblet!"

"I know," she wrote morosely. "I've just gotten back from Dumbledore's. Everyone's so angry."

Her friend placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Hey, it'll be alright, you'll see."

"How can it?" She asked. "I have no choice but to compete."

"Well, well, would you look at that." The two girls turned to see Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode walk into the common room, sneers plastered onto thier faces. "If it isn't the mighty Russian. Care to tell us how you managed it?"

"Yes," a large hand fell on her shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Won't you tell us?"

Anja looked up at Draco, surprised by the venom in his voice.

"I didn't," she answered truthfully. "I have no idea how it happened."

"You expect me to believe that?" He whirled her around to face him, a terrifying expression on his face. "You said you didn't know a way past the age line."

"I didn't-don't! I didn't put my name in, I swear!"

His expression softened a bit before hardening again. "Did you have someone put it in for you? Was it Dmytri?"

"No! Of course not!" She wrested herself from his grip, jabbing his chest angrily with her finger. "You know as well as anyone that I despise this competition!"

"Then why did your name come out of the Goblet?" He near shouted, using his greater height to corner her.

Anja was silent for a moment, looking down as she thought about her answer.

"Professor Moody thinks someone might be trying to kill me."

Tracey gasped, but Draco's angry scowl only deepened.

"And why would anyone want to do that?"

Deflated, she could only shrug.

"He says it might be to get to my father."

Draco scoffed. "Well, that's a load of nonsense. Everyone knows he doesn't give a rat's ass about what happens to you."

"Draco!" Tracey scolded, her green eyes wide with surprise, but the taller blond didn't let up.

"If you don't want to tell us, that's fine, but I thought you were above working with Gryffindors." His face twisted into his signature sneer. "So much for house loyalty."

Anja finally looked back up at him, tears welling in her eyes. Pushing past him, she ran up the stairs to her room, collapsing onto her bed in a fit of silent sobs.

A moment or two later, someone sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her back.

"Hush, it's alright, Anja," Tracey cooed. "He's just jealous. He'll get over it eventually."

"What if he doesn't?" she wrote without lifting her head. "What if he hates me?"

"Oh, Anja," her friend sighed. "He doesn't hate you. He's just," she struggled visibly for the right word. "Confused. I know," she added after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "why don't you go talk to Dmytri? I'm sure he'll have _some_ idea of what to do."

Anja nodded, wiping her eyes.

"Here," Tracey pressed a handkerchief to her nose. "Blow."

* * *

Anja sighed heavily as she waited for Dmytri to speak, her eyes trained on the bookshelves behind his head. She'd cornered him in the library after sneaking out of the common room and forced him to hear her out. His expression, originally smiling, had grown more and more serious as they stood in the aisle, magicked books floating past them.

"Это звучит для меня, что у вас нет выбора, кроме как бороться." _It sounds to me that you have no choice but to fight_.

Anja deflated visibly, propping her head against his chest.

"Боюсь, Dmytri. Я не хочу умирать." _I'm afraid, Dmytri. I don't want to die._

"You won't, сестра." He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug. "You'll be fine."

She nodded, bravely holding back her tears.


	13. Chapter 13

Anja kept herself as small as possible - which wasn't very hard, considering - as she made her way to the dungeons for Double Potions. It wasn't her best class, but she enjoyed making magic from seemingly innocuous things, and Snape never got _too_ angry with her for her screw ups. She'd managed to avoid her fellow Slytherins by sticking to Tracey and Dmytri alternatively, but her friend had gone to the hospital wing after a bout of particularly bad cramps and her fellow Russian had been abducted by Karkaroff. Hopefully she'd be able to grab a seat with Blaise before she was bombarded.

She ducked into class and bolted for her seat, settling into it before anyone could speak with her. Snape began the lesson with his usual celerity, and Anja sighed in relief when no one sat beside her.

"Today we will be making antidotes," he announced in his usual monotone, dark eyes darting about the room. "You should have prepared your recipes by now, and I expect you to brew carefully." Anja shrank in her seat as he glared at her pointedly. "Now, for someone to test them on..."

A knock interrupted his blatant musings, and a young Gryffindor boy entered the room.

"'Scuse me, Professor, but I'm to take the Champions upstairs."

Anja was so relieved that she didn't hear her House Head admonishing the boy and only caught something about photographs. She couldn't care less about what was happening upstairs, just so long as it got her out of the dungeons.

* * *

She and Harry had followed the boy, whose name was Colin, up to the trophy room and, after sharing a nervous glance, entered together. Inside, Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric were already assembled. Harry was pulled aside and into conversation almost immediately, leaving Anja to stand alone. A blonde woman with horn rimmed glasses spoke loudly, drawing everyone's attention.

"Might I have a word with Harry before we start? Surely a word from the youngest Champion will liven things up."

Harry looked like a cornered rabbit, his eyes wide in his panic. "Technically, Anja's the youngest."

The reporter, having been caught in her ploy, glowered at the small girl. "Very well, then. Come with me."

Anja was dragged unceremoniously into a broom cupboard and shoved brusquely onto a box that bent beneath her weight. The blonde woman sat herself down on an upturned bucket and huffed loudly.

"I'm sorry my dear, that was rude of me. I am Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet." Anja took the offered hand hesitantly, and was surprised by the strength of the woman's grip. "Do you mind if I use a Quick Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to speak to you properly." She pulled out a quill with a vibrant green plume that caught the light.

"Not at all," her own quill wrote, catching Rita's eye.

"Oh, is that a Thought Write Quill? I've never seen one in use before; tell me, child, are you, perhaps, a mute?"

Before Anja could respond, the green quill had begun writing on a piece of parchment, the words indecipherable from her current angle.

"Well, no matter, tell me, dear, what's your name?"

"Anja Aleksievna Reznikova," she replied, perplexed.

"And how does it feel to be one of the Fourth year competitors?"

"Terrible," Anja wrote honestly, continuing as both Rita and her quill paused to look at her. "I don't want to compete. Quite frankly, I think this is suicide."

The quill resumed movement. "I see, and why is that? Have you had some tragic dealings in the past? Perhaps one that left you dependent on your quill?"

Anja held her hands out in front of her in panic.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. My family has a history of competing - and dying. I just don't want to continue the tradition."

The acquisitive gleam in Rita's eyes turned falsely sympathetic. "Oh, you poor dear. You must be crumbling under the pressure to live up to your family's expectations. And the tasks, how do you feel about them?"

The scratching of the green quill was the only sound as Anja considered her answer.

"Apprehensive," she wrote finally. "I'm not sure I know everything I'll need to."

Rita's quill jabbed at the parchment. "Thank you dear, do send Harry in after you, hmm?"

Wary at the woman's sudden change in focus - or, rather, lack there of -, Anja left the cupboard with a dazed expression on her face.

* * *

**OK, so I was unsure whether or not I should include the wand bit with Ollivander in this, but if y'all want it, you'll get it.**


	14. Chapter 14

Anja sat alone in the library, skimming through a large tome on titled "The Triwizard Tournament : A record" in the hopes of finding some clue to what her first task might be. Tracey and Blaise had been with her at the beginning, but they were fast developing a habit of leaving whenever they saw something of greater interest, namely Dmytri and the other Durmstrang students. She sighed, running a finger over a picture of her great great great great great uncle as he was at sixteen, his smiling face not all that different from her father's. A loud slam had her jumping in her seat, and she looked up to find livid Harry Potter, a badly crumpled newspaper under his hand where it had hit the table.

"Have you seen this?" He ground out through gritted teeth, and Anja held out her hand for the paper, watching bemusedly as Harry sat down with a huff.

All amusement fled as she read the front page article. Rita Skeeter had written the most ridiculous things about poor Harry, making him out as a psychopath with abandonment issues, all at the tender age of _twelve_. It would have been funny, except Anja was a Slytherin, so she knew what her housemates would do once they read this rubbish.

Skimming ahead, she came across her name, and read slowly.

_Anja Aleksievna Reznikova, a small girl in the Slytherin house in the same year as Harry Potter, is the youngest competitor in the Triwizard Tournament, although she claims to want no part in it._

_"Many of my ancestors have fallen in this tournament," she told me with sad eyes. "I'm afraid I'll let them down if I fail."_

_The poor child, burdened already by the pressures of the tournament, was rendered mute at a young age by a tragic accident which she refused to disclose, her tiny body shaking with the memory. I offered to cut our interview short, but she bravely insisted on continuing._

_"It's suicide," she said in response to a question about unprepared students participating in the Tournament, making it quite clear how she feels about her competitors. "I feel most apprehensive for the first task."_

_When asked how she felt about the Tournament itself she told me, in no uncertain terms that "I don't plan on continuing the family tradition," referring, of course, to her family's tendency to die in competition. I think it's safe to say that, while she may not like it, the little Slytherin plans on winning it._

Below the article was another paragraph or two hinting at who she might be _involved_ with, amongst whom were Dmytri, Blaise, and even Goyle. She looked across the table at Harry, who'd calmed down significantly while she read.

"So she's a little off; it's nothing to get so mad about, Harry."

He snorted in derision. "She didn't make _you_ sound like a little boy who can't handle life without his parents."

"No, but she _did_ make it sound like I wanted to kill all my opponents, you included."

Harry laughed at that. "Alright, alright, if _you_ can put up with Malfoy I guess I can, too. Besides," he stood, gathering the newspaper under one arm. "It beats being called a crazy Russian."

She cringed, "Has it already started?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. Care to join me and Hermione for some butterbeer down at Hogsmeade? She thinks it'll be good for us to get the Tournament off our minds."

Anja looked down at the monstrous book in front of her, her uncle's face smiling up at her.

"Sure," she wrote. "Why not?"


	15. Hiatus

**Hey, guys, it's me, and, no, I'm not dead. My life's been really hectic lately with performances and testing and competitions and illness. You name it, it happened. Ugh. I hate to say this, guys, but I need to take a bit of a break with this one. Nothing too long, just until this season calms down and I have time to actually sit down and work out how everything is gonna happen with Anja thrown into the mix. I promise to read the book again and take copious notes so that, when i _do _write again, it'll be spectacular. I can't stand the idea of remaining idle for too long, though, so I will be going back and rewriting what I can (I currently don't have reliable internet at home and am working off a substandard school issue computer). I hope you all stay with me, and I hope to see you guys again soon.**

**With all my love,**

**_Morrowyn_**


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